


Black Maria

by greerwatson



Category: Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: When the Turner children's parents suddenly die, their Aunt Maria comes to take care of them.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 18
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Black Maria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsredboots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsredboots/gifts).



Molly and Jim were not at all surprised when the postmaster’s boy rang the bell. Mother and Father had said they’d be back in good time to see them off to school; and the trunks had already gone ahead. It was Mrs Postlethwaite who gave the boy tuppence and took in the telegram; but the two children were already out in the hall and read it eagerly. The next day, though, their parents did not arrive at the expected time. Instead, it was Constable Jackson who came, accompanied by Dr Blackett. In his plain sensible country way, he told them what had happened.

“But it can’t be true,” said Molly. Her voice sounded quiet and certain, but her face was white.

Jim looked at his big sister, uncertain how to respond. It _was_ impossible; yet there was a terrifyingly grave look on Bob’s father’s face.

“Why don’t you two sit down,” Dr Blackett said gently.

After a long moment, Molly nodded. She sat primly, in a manner most unlike herself, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Let me tell you what happened,” said Dr Blackett, “as well as we know at the moment.” He waited until Molly nodded before going on. “Your parents’ train, the Midland express to Manchester—they were going to change there to the local line….”

Jim looked at Molly and saw her nod again. “Yes,” she said in a distant voice, “they always do that.”

“Well, the express left St Pancras on time, but it never arrived in Manchester. There was an accident. It was in a town called Wellingborough, though I don’t know the details … something about a blockage on the line. Anyway, there was a derailment. That means the train came off the tracks. It’s a very serious sort of accident. Quite a number of people were injured, and several were killed.”

Molly’s lips quivered.

Ignoring the grown-ups, Jim asked her, “Is it true?”

She turned to look at him. “Yes, I think it must be.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “You see, Jimmy, the police are here. I know it’s Constable Jackson; but he’s still the police. They aren’t the sort to play jokes. And Dr Blackett. He’s not here because he’s Bob’s father. He’s here in case we start acting weird, all screaming and crying. ‘Hysterics’, it’s called.” She licked her lips, which seemed suddenly very dry. “He’s here as a doctor.”

“Mother and Father are dead?” Jim asked incredulously. “Really _dead_?”

She nodded.

The grown-ups then took over—which was just as well, for neither Molly nor Jim had any idea what needed to be done. Mrs Postlethwaite got them their dinner, though they had little appetite. Old General Jolys came round to assure them that a telegram had been sent to their aunt, who had replied that she would arrive the following evening. And the minister came, explaining that there would be a funeral in due course; but that arrangements could not be made immediately since their parents’ bodies (or “mortal remains”, as he put it) were still in Wellingborough as far as he knew, or perhaps the nearest town.

Of all of this, most went past the children like a chill breeze off the lake. The one thing that caught their attention—for it was the only matter of personal concern—was the mention of their aunt.

“Did he mean Aunt Maria?” Jim asked when the two were finally alone, upstairs, supposedly getting ready for bed.

“He must,” said Molly bleakly. “It can’t be Aunt Josephine: she’s in Canada with her husband. And it can’t be Aunt Alice, because she’s dead.”

They both contemplated the enormity of Aunt Maria coming to Beckfoot. “But she _never_ visits,” Jim said finally. “She hates the country. She never leaves London.” It had been Aunt Maria whom their parents had been visiting, as well as Father having business in town and Mother wanting to shop.

“I think,” said Molly, after a moment’s thought, “she must be coming for the funeral.” With greater assurance, she added, “She would have to come for that, after all. Father was her only family.”

“And after that, then we go to school?” asked Jim doubtfully.

This gave Molly pause. She couldn’t imagine what else the two of them would do. They could hardly stay at Beckfoot in term time: one has to go to school, after all; and attending the one in the village was out of the question. “Yes, of course,” she said firmly, with a certainty that she didn’t really feel. “But we won’t be leaving until after the funeral.”

Aunt Maria arrived on the four o’clock train. It was, as she later reported severely, almost five minutes late. She was met by the Jolys’ carriage, driven by the General’s son, home on leave. Her luggage would follow by cart. Throughout the public ceremonies she maintained a stiff formality, greeting the neighbourhood as they paid their regards and regrets. For all that she could hardly have met them for years, she remembered their names very well. Her clothing was, of course, black from head to toe, with a little half-veil. Neither of the children had proper blacks; but Mrs Postlethwaite had swiftly sewn armbands on their school coats and swapped the ribbon on Molly’s hat for a one of similar sobriety. Jim’s school cap, of course, he took off in church; and its colours remained hidden in his pocket. Under Aunt Maria’s chill eye, he went home bare-headed.

The next day, Father’s lawyer came from Kendal. He was closeted with Aunt Maria in the parlour for some time. The children, who had come to the head of the stairs to see him arrive, were told briskly to return to the old nursery, and only realized he had finally gone when they heard the sound of his carriage. Aunt Maria explained nothing, and was so stony-faced over dinner that neither Molly nor Jim dared ask what the lawyer had come for. Indeed, she spoke only to instruct Mrs Postlethwaite to remove the main course and serve the pudding. As they left the room, however, she informed the children that they would be leaving the following day. “Your school has been told of the delay in your arrival,” she said, “as well as the reason. There will be no problems.”

The next morning, they trotted in the pony cart along the familiar route to the railway station at the southern end of the lake. The stationmaster—familiar with their situation—offered his condolences, which they accepted politely. Aunt Maria took a platform ticket, and waited with them until the train arrived. Then each child shook her hand formally goodbye, and settled with relief in the carriage. School promised a blessed return to normality.

It was not until they returned to Beckfoot for the Christmas hols that they realized just how great a change in their lives had been wrought by the accident at Wellingborough Station.

* * *

That Molly was met at the station was no surprise. She did not, however, expect Aunt Maria. In fact, she had assumed it unlikely that they would ever see her again.

“I know my duty,” was all her aunt said when Molly expressed her surprise. “Get into the trap, child. It’s threatening snow; and I want to be home before dark.”

Home. It was an odd word to hear from Aunt Maria, who had lived in London for as long as Molly could remember.

“I did return, certainly, for as long as necessary to pack for the move,” her aunt said repressively. “But I shall be living at Beckfoot from now on. Or did you imagine that children your age might be permitted to live on your own?”

It must have been clear from her face that Molly had not actually considered the matter, for Aunt Maria added, “I grant that, in the shock of your parents’ decease, you probably were not thinking at all. Nevertheless, we must all now contemplate the future.” However, what _that_ meant she did not explain.

In fact, Christmas proceeded in much the usual fashion, for Aunt Maria—being family—knew all the familiar customs. Molly, who had spent her last pocket money on a wooden pistol for Jim’s present, hastily looked out her newest handkerchiefs and spent some hours embroidering her aunt’s initials. Aside from that labour, the holiday was a time of joy. They brought down the decorations on Christmas Eve, and dressed the tree. They attended early service; ate heartily of roast goose and potatoes, stuffing and chestnuts; opened their presents; and sang carols in the parlour, with Aunt Maria playing accompaniment on the piano. Over the next few days, Jim spent much of the brief daylight hours out of doors with Bob Blackett, encouraged by their aunt, who considered this an excellent way to control their boyish enthusiasm and energy. Molly was allowed to join them in making a snowman on the back lawn; and, when the edges of the lake froze, they all—even Aunt Maria—took skates down to the clear, windswept ice. It was only when Jim’s trunk was taken out for packing that Molly learned that she herself would not be returning to her school.

“When I was a girl, I had a governess,” Aunt Maria informed her. “Your brother, of course, must go to his preparatory school. But I’ve never seen the propriety of sending a girl to boarding school.”

“I’m going to have a governess?” exclaimed Molly in dismay. It was like something out of a book.

“Certainly not,” said her aunt. “I shall teach you myself.”

Later, when Jim had gone and Aunt Maria was out visiting, Molly slipped into the kitchen to chat with Mrs Postlethwaite, who was rolling out pastry for pie to their dinner. “You’d best be gone out of here before _she_ comes back,” she was told, firmly but kindly. “Miss Turner said pretty sharpish that she doesn’t hold with you two hobnobbing with servants, as she puts it.” Molly, who had always thought of their cook as family, pulled out a chair from the big wooden table and sat down anyway. After a moment, Mrs Postlethwaite took out a tin and cut her a slice of gingerbread.

Molly nibbled for bit, watching as the cook laid the pastry over the pie, and trimmed and crimped the edges. Then, when it was in the oven, she set the last of the gingerbread aside and asked what to do.

“Not much you can, lass. It’s Miss Turner in charge now that your parents are gone. Be different when you’re grown; but that’ll not be for years yet.”

“I wish she’d just go.”

The cook rolled up the pastrycloth, brushed flour off her hands, and turned round with a brisk sensible air. “There’s no point in wishing,” she said. “Miss Turner is staying, and that’s that. It’s not as though she has anywhere to go, after all. The house in London has been sold.”

Molly was astonished.

“You didn’t know?”

Molly shook her head.

“It was your father’s, after all. Not her own. I reckon she has some money settled on her; but the house was always your father’s. Anyway, the trustees decided to sell it. Better than leaving it empty; and your aunt is needed here.”

“We could do just fine without her,” Molly said stoutly.

“I dare say _you_ think so,” said the cook with a fond smile. “Run wild, the pair of you, if there weren’t someone here to keep an eye on you. I can’t, not as you need, not with my work and all. Besides, there’s no way the trustees’d allow it. I will say,” she added, “there’s no reason I see that Miss Turner can’t let you go off to school like your brother. It’s what your parents decided, after all. But it’s not up to me.”

Molly pouted.

“And just you remember,” Mrs Postlethwaite said firmly, “I don’t reckon she wanted to shift herself up north any more than you want her here. It’s an inconvenience to _her_ , too. But don’t think for a minute that she’ll complain about it, either, least of all to you or me. She knows her duty; and she’ll do it. So you manage, too; and we’ll all muddle through in the end.”

Which was more easily said than done.

**Author's Note:**

> The accident in which Molly and Jim's parents were killed occurred at Wellingborough on 2 September 1898. Seven people were killed, and 65 injured. If you are curious for details, you can [read about it on Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wellingborough_rail_accident).


End file.
